


Like the Wind That Shakes the Bow

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels can sense love, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Inspired by Fanart, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), love as a tangible force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Aziraphale rolls his eyes at him again but sets to his work, soaking the towel in the lukewarm water before pressing it into Crowley’s heel.  The irony of Aziraphale washing his feet is not lost on him, an angel kneeling before a demon.  Crowley relaxes as the water soothes his aching feet, applied with an expert hand.  Aziraphale is silent and focused; Crowley is grateful for this.  He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows his glasses can only hide so much.“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers so quietly that he barely hears it.  His hands have stilled on Crowley’s right foot, gently soothing over the same spot over and over.“Whassit?”“Thank you,” Aziraphale says without looking up, voice soft and fond as he places the towel back in the wash basin.  It makes something crack in Crowley’s chest, something that got locked up after a fight in a park eighty years ago.  “I don’t tell you that enough, you know.  I never did.  I know you don’t like it, but I wish you knew.  I wish there were a better way.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 370
Collections: Ineffable First Times, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Like the Wind That Shakes the Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YamiSnuffles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/gifts).



> What I haven't written 1941 smut yet? How dare I! Well now I have thanks to inspiration from  
> [YamiSnuffles' amazing art](https://twitter.com/YamiSpic/status/1250928329676464128?s=20) I literally could not help myself, so here have this! xD
> 
> Also please go listen to Crazy He Calls Me by Billy Holliday and tell me it’s not peak Crowley vibes because it _is_.

“Dear boy, you can barely walk on your own! Don’t think I didn’t see you limping to the car!”

Aziraphale is sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley, heaven-bent on convincing Crowley to come inside. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know what he wants and isn’t that just life as fucking usual.

“Aziraphale I’m _fine_ ,” he entreats to the angel again. For the fourth bloody time since they left the church ruins. He’s acting strange, to be sure. Fidgeting more than usual, stammering when he speaks. Crowley would know, Crowley’s been watching for years.

Crowley has been watching forever.

“Crowley, I really must insist you come inside and let me help you,” Aziraphale says with a huff, and there’s something there; in his eyes and on his voice. If Crowley didn’t know better, he might start to think Aziraphale had missed him. Wouldn’t that be a bit of a lark.

But it doesn’t seem like Aziraphale will be letting this go anytime soon. Once he gets an idea in his head he tends to be stubborn as an ox. Crowley heaves a sigh as he opens the car door. “Fine then, yes, alright, get on with it. Whatever the heaven it is.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, bright and beaming from the passenger side as he opens his door. The minuscule light catches in the satin of the band on his hat, looking for all the world like a halo on his head. He’s ethereal. Well, Azirpahale always is, it’s in his nature. But after so long, Crowley thinks, Aziraphale looks even more ethereal in the ambiguous sense. Like a saving grace come back from somewhere lost deep in the past. London is a blackout, but somehow Azirpahale’s eyes still sparkle. Satan almighty, but Crowley has missed this. Missed the presence of the angel in his life.

Crowley follows Aziraphale into the bookshop, looking much like a ruin itself with the boarded up windows and the empty streets. Aziraphale ushers him in as he goes to light several candles placed around the shop. Crowley winces with every step, feeling the blistering heat still radiating through the tender skin of his feet.

He collapses onto his usual couch (what used to be his usual couch, anyway) and hisses in relief at the load taken off of his feet. “I hope you’ve got something good lying around here, angel,” he calls out towards the other side of the shop, “need some damn good alcohol after tonight, I'd think.”

“Later, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, coming back into view. He’s got a small basin of water and a towel tossed over his shoulder. His jacket and hat are gone, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Crowley tries his best not to pay too much attention to those forearms. It’s practically obscene, seeing his prim and buttoned up angel like this.

“What’s that for?” Crowley asks with only a touch of a crack to his voice, hoping it goes unnoticed.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes as he settles the basin near Crowley on the floor. “For your feet, dear, they must be hurting quite dreadfully.” Crowley opens his mouth to deny this, but is stopped by Aziraphale kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Just let me help you, alright? Pay back the favor I owe you for tonight.”

Crowley wants to say ‘ _you don’t owe me anything, you never have’._ He wants to say ‘ _don’t pay me back like this is the Arrangement, we haven’t done that in years all I want is to spend some time with you’_. He says neither of these things as Aziraphale slowly works the boots off of his feet.

“This might hurt just a tick,” Aziraphale says before unhooking Crowley’s sock garters and slowly sliding the socks off his feet. They catch on the blisters and it hurts like hell (and Crowley should know). He yelps at the pain of it. “Be _still_ I told you it might hurt!”

“Yea feels like you’re taking my bloody skin off, fucks sake!”

“Well the socks are kind of burnt to it now so it’s not going to be a picnic in the park, dear.”

Crowley crosses his arms and sulks, leaning back into the couch with a huff. “Whatever, just get on with it.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes at him again but sets to his work, soaking the towel in the lukewarm water before pressing it into Crowley’s heel. The irony of Aziraphale washing his feet is not lost on him, an angel kneeling before a demon. Crowley relaxes as the water soothes his aching feet, applied with an expert hand. Aziraphale is silent and focused; Crowley is grateful for this. He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows his glasses can only hide so much.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers so quietly that he barely hears it. His hands have stilled on Crowley’s right foot, gently soothing over the same spot over and over.

“Whassit?”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says without looking up, voice soft and fond as he places the towel back in the wash basin. It makes something crack in Crowley’s chest, something that got locked up after a fight in a park eighty years ago. “I don’t tell you that enough, you know. I never did. I know you don’t like it, but I wish you knew. I wish there were a better way.”

“A better way for what?” Crowley asks, confused. Aziraphale turns back to him, still not looking up. The candlelight makes it hard to see, but Crowley could swear the tips of Aziraphale’s ears are turning pink. He ghosts a touch lightly over each of Crowley’s feet, coming to rest on his ankles.

“A better way to show you how much I appreciate you.” Aziraphale’s thumbs trace featherlight circles on the sensitive skin of the inside of Crowley’s ankle. “How much I’ve missed you.” The angel’s hands ghost further up Crowley’s calves. “How much my heart has hurt these decades past without you.” Aziraphale finally looks up and meets his eyes, and all of a sudden the sunglasses do not feel like enough. Aziraphale’s eyes sparkle in the candlelight, full of a fire of their own. Crowley wants nothing more than to be consumed by it.

“Aziraphale…” This makes no sense. They don’t touch like this; Aziraphale doesn’t talk like this. Aziraphale doesn’t take care of him like this. He doesn’t look at Crowley like he’s the most important thing in the room. Or maybe he does? Maybe Crowley just hadn’t noticed, too concerned with keeping his feelings under wraps. Too invested in keeping the both of them safe; his circling habit of watching for danger. Moments when he knows he wasn’t looking; could Aziraphale have been looking at him like this then?

Aziraphale rises from his knees, coming face to face with Crowley, hands resting lightly on the demon’s thighs. “I felt it, there in the rubble. I _know_ , Crowley.” One of Aziraphale’s hands comes up to cup Crowley’s cheek. He leans into the touch, like a cat into the sun. “I’ve known since Paris. Felt it building since Rome. I’m an angel, we can sense it.” 

“Sense... Sense what…” Crowley chokes out around the sudden dryness in his throat. Aziraphale is stroking a thumb along one of his cheekbones and he’s so terrified that any second now he’s going to wake up. Find all of this to be a dream. Aziraphale doesn’t look at him like this, doesn’t touch him like this. Only ever in dreams.

“ _Love_ , Crowley.” Aziraphale leans forward and closes the distance, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips. It’s not insistent, not desperate. A soft meeting of lips. A single word, held at the backs of tongues for near all of time. A confession and a promise, all wrapped up in one.

A gentle warmth radiates from this small point of contact, growing stronger the further through Crowley it spreads. It feels like coming inside out of the cold on a bitter winter day. It feels like a hearth in a drafty tavern; sequestered in a secret corner for a clandestine conversation. It feels like the sun, bright and new and beating down on his wings the first time he stretched them out on the walls of Eden. It feels like the supernovas that used to burst forth from his starmaker hands. It feels like a piece of him he hasn’t had since the Fall slotting into place.

It’s Aziraphale’s love, because of course it is. It’s everywhere, consuming him from the inside out. Coursing through his veins, wrapping itself around the void where he soul resides, sinking deep down into his heart. A heart that, for as long as Crowley can remember, has only ever beat for Aziraphale.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says against Crowley’s lips, “that’s…”

Crowley rests their foreheads together as he opens his eyes. Aziraphale doesn’t open his; a blissful smile on his face. Not as if he’d just locked lips with a demon, but more like the look he has over a particularly sinful slice of chocolate cake.

“I could feel it, just then,” Crowley says, sounding very much like the wind has been knocked out of him completely. “Your love, Aziraphale, I felt it. I haven’t...not since the Fall, I haven’t felt…”

Aziraphale opens his eyes lazily and fixes Crowley with his gaze; another wave of love threatens to pull Crowley under. “Oh, my dearest,” Aziraphale chokes out as tears brim in his eyes. “I felt...I felt my name. On your heartbeat.”

“Hey. Angel, hey,” Crowley says as he brings both his hands to rest on Aziraphale’s cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “What’s with the waterworks here?” He asks softly and gently.

“It’s just...it’s just so _much_ ,” Aziraphale says as his head falls to Crowley’s shoulder. “All this time; all these years. Crowley, you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted. The only one who’s ever cared, who’s ever mattered.”

Crowley cards his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair in a way he hopes is comforting. “Look, angel, whatever is wrong we’ll figure it out, yea?”

Aziraphale nuzzles - honest to fucking Satan _nuzzles_ \- into his neck and starts to laugh. “Nothing is wrong at all, my dear, I’m just a little overwhelmed with happiness, is all.”

Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale, holding him close. Crowley kisses his temple with a chuckle. “Oh, is that all? Should try getting hit with it all at once, angel. Swear you’re gonna drown me in it.”

He feels Aziraphale hum against his neck and it reverberates through Crowley’s entire body. He can’t see the smile that’s forming on Aziraphale’s face, but it feels mischievous against his skin. “Well you know, darling,” Aziraphale whispers as he kisses along the line of Crowley’s neck softly. Every press of lips a benediction, sealing love into his skin. Crowley tries and fails to repress a moan at the sensation, and this only serves to encourage Aziraphale to continue. “We _could_ always try swimming instead.”

“What does that even-” Crowley tries to ask, but is rendered speechless by Aziraphale sucking a bruise into the side of his neck. His hand comes up to tangle in the angel’s cottonfluff hair as he holds him even tighter. “Angel…”

Crowley sucks in a sharp breath when he hears the definitive _snap_ of the button on his suspenders coming undone. He hadn’t even noticed Aziraphale’s hand drifting that direction, the sneaky bastard. Distracting Crowley with the warm press of lips to his neck.

“Is this alright, darling?” Aziraphale whispers against the shell of Crowley’s ear as he runs a finger along the button of the other suspender, popping it open as well. “Can I show you how I love you?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, angel.” Crowley says, voice hushed and strained, searching for air.

“I know that, my love.” Aziraphale’s voice is low and husky, filled with a lust Crowley has never heard there before. Aziraphale’s hand finds the knot of his skinny red necktie and starts to loosen it. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Crowley.”

At this, Aziraphale takes Crowley’s earlobe between his teeth and _pulls_. Crowley arches his back off the couch, and gasps out Aziraphale’s name. Undeterred, Aziraphale pulls the knot on his necktie free and resumes pressing hot and burning kisses to Crowley’s neck, punctuating each one with praise.

“I remember you in Rome, darling, That ridiculous hair, so upset with humanity.” Aziraphale drags his teeth along Crowley’s neck as he speaks, scraping his skin. Crowley can’t help but arch his neck, giving Aziraphale better access. “You kept me company when I needed it. Drank the wine with me. I still remember just how the lantern-light flickered in the lenses of those ridiculous spectacles. How your skin glowed in the moonlight when you walked me home.”

Crowley remembers it, how could he not? Sloshed on good wine and better company, bumping into each other as they walked down the moonlit streets of cobbled stone. Their hands would brush, barely, and Crowley would pretend in his own mind that it was an accident. That he was drunker than he thought. That every slight whisper of skin to skin contact didn’t send sparks flying up his spine to the base of his neck, tingling outward through his limbs and back again.

“I remember you in King Arthur’s court, spreading your foment.” Azirpahale moves to his jaw, nipping along the sharp jut of it. Crowley makes a keening sound in the back of his throat. He scrapes his fingernails along Aziraphale’s scalp with one hand as his other moves to grip the back of the angel’s neck. “Extending a hand in offering. An offer of a better way for things to be for us. How many times have I tempted for you? How many times have you blessed for me?”

“D-doesn’t matter, does it?” Crowley asks, barely a whisper. He knows, of course. Knows the exact number, knows when and where and why. Keeps it all on his own scorecard; his little bit of proof that he’s not in this alone. Aziraphale pulls back to look at him and Crowley is struck speechless. Aziraphale’s eyes are sparkling, full of love and devotion. His hair is mussed, unkempt in a way Crowley has never seen it. It practically glows in the candlelight, white-blond curls, softer than even Crowley thought they would be. Make no mistake, he’s thought of it often.

Aziraphale is silent for a moment. He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth and, for once, Crowley doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring. Aziraphale reaches out with infinite gentleness and touches the arm of Crowley’s glasses. He nods and Aziraphale removes them, treating them with the same care he would his first edition prophecies. “No, I think,” Aziraphale says softly, “not one bit.” 

He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Crowley’s. It’s more insistent than the first time, and Aziraphale clambers up on the sofa to straddle Crowley’s legs. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale tight, holding him up. Keeping him steady, as their lips slot together, kiss deepening with centuries of pent up need and want. Aziraphale slides his fingers into Crowley’s hair, knocking the ridiculous hat off his head and to the floor.

“I remember you at the Globe,” Aziraphale says between breaths; between the crashing of lips. “Burbage was nice, of course, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” Aziraphale’s bookbinder hands work at the buttons near Crowley’s throat. Every one he undoes breaks a little more of Crowley’s composure. “Even if there had been hundreds of people in the crowd, all I would’ve been able to see would be you. You made Hamlet a success for me. For no other reason than to bring me joy. You let your light shine, so that I may see your good works.” Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into his trousers, freeing the last couple of buttons. He runs his palms over Crowley’s bare chest, nails scratching lightly through his chest hair, up to Crowley’s shoulders to push the shirt off of him completely.

The praise is too much, it’s burrowing into Crowley in a way he’s never felt before. Seeping into his skin, rewriting his atoms. Aziraphale’s words alone are making him strain against his trousers. The kisses Aziraphale trails now along his collarbones and down his sternum are not helping. He rolls his hips up into Aziraphale’s, desperately seeking some form of friction, some form of relief.

“No, no, dearest,” Aziraphale tuts at him. Something in his voice makes it impossible for Crowley to move. He wants to do whatever Aziraphale wants him to do. He’s _desperate_ for that, to hear these litanies fall from the angel’s lips, blessing whatever is left of the grace that shrivelled up in a pool of sulfur so many millennia ago. He gazes up at Aziraphale, feeling dazed and hazy, seeing his angel looking down at him from on high. Aziraphale kisses him again, languid and slow, his tongue teasing at Crowley’s lips. Crowley eagerly opens his mouth for him, but Aziraphale pulls back. “I’m not finished, my love.”

“R-gugh-erk,” Crowley stammers out, “r-right then, angel.” His breath is gone, it belongs to Aziraphale now. To his words, to his touches, to his kisses and his teeth.

Aziraphale kisses up his jaw again, planting the last kiss directly to the snake tattoo on his face before practically growling into his ear. “Darling, I need you to hear all of the things I appreciate about you. Can you be good for me and listen?”

Crowley swallows hard. “Yes, Aziraphale, I can do that.”

He’s rewarded with the stroke of a manicured hand through his hair. Crowley’s head lolls back, following the direction of Aziraphale’s hand. “Thank you, darling,” Aziraphale whispers low, kissing him again. Aziraphale leans into him, resting his weight against Crowley’s chest, stroking his hands lovingly through Crowley’s hair. Crowley has a vague thought that this must be what bliss feels like, here holding his angel in his arms, trading slow kisses in the back of the bookshop. Aziraphale has always been one to savor, to take his time with something he enjoys. Aziraphale places a kiss to the shell of Crowley’s ear as he speaks again. “In Paris, that dreadful cell, you came to my rescue. You could’ve let them discorporate me, stick me with the paperwork, but you didn’t.”

Crowley wants to say something, to reassure him that he’d never have left him somewhere like that. But every drag of Aziraphale’s fingernails, every press of his lips, is sending sparks through Crowley’s entire being. Flashes of love, delivered directly to his heart from every point of contact between the two of them. It’s so much and not enough all at once. Aziraphale kisses him deeply again, and Crowley’s long fingers start to work loose the angel’s bowtie. 

“Even then, to some extent, I knew,” Aziraphale whispers as Crowley pulls his bowtie loose. Crowley moves slowly, feeling for all the world like he’s underwater, unable to go his preferred speed when under Aziraphale’s scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you think I got into that mess in the first place?” Aziraphale asks, “it had been quite a while since I’d seen you, I was lonely. I missed you. I wanted to find you, ended up in trouble instead. And then there you were, just like you always are.”

Azirpahale cups Crowley’s cheek. “My darling, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, tears welling in his eyes once again. “So good to me, so kind.” Every word strikes into Crowley with a jolt straight to his cock. “So thoughtful, so protective. You do so very many things for me, my dearest…” Aziraphale trails off, pressing their lips together again. His fingers find the edge of Crowley’s trousers and Crowley feels the breath catch in his throat.

Crowley finally finds some footing and kisses Aziraphale back with desperation. He opens his mouth to the angel and is finally, _finally_ rewarded for his efforts. Aziraphale licks into his mouth with abandon, like he’s savoring the last bite of a particularly delectable panna cotta. Like he wants to taste and savor and remember this moment for the rest of time. The thought that Aziraphale could want him this way, the thought that Aziraphale could find any piece of his black-heart existence to be _good_. It sets alight a flame deep down inside of him, and all Crowley wants is more.

Crowley’s hands find the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat and make quick work of them, pushing it down off of his shoulders. His forked tongue snakes into the angel’s mouth; he tastes of ambrosia. Of milk and honey. Of everything that is good and right and perfect in the world. Crowley hears a moan, not sure which of them it came from. Feels the vibration of it to his core as Aziraphale sinks his fingers into Crowley’s hair and pulls.

Aziraphale starts to trail kisses back down his neck, over his collarbones, the hollow of his throat. He climbs off of Crowley, back to his kneeling position on the floor as he ghosts his tongue and his teeth over one of Crowley’s nipples. “Crowley, my darling, my dearest, my love,” Aziraphale says in between kisses down his sternum, “let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale’s finger traces the top button of Crowley’s trousers, waiting for permission. A light, teasing pressure against his skin, separated by fabric. Crowley runs a hand through Aziraphale’s hair, committing this sight to memory. Aziraphale, on his knees, staring up at Crowley like he hung the blasted moon.

“Whatever you want from me, Aziraphale,” Crowley manages to croak out, swallowing hard. “Angel, I love you.”

The words spill out and the world stays much the same. No beam of light crashes down to toss Aziraphale into the pit. No agents of hell beat down the door to drag him back down to the Deepest Pit. They sit there in blessed silence for a few moments, before Aziraphale says on a shaky breath, “I love you too, Crowley, I have for so very, very long.”

Aziraphale lurches back up to kiss him again, popping the buttons of Crowley’s trousers free as he does - one by one, taking down the last barrier between them. Crowley’s tongue is in Aziraphale’s mouth as his achingly hard cock is freed from his trousers. He gasps at the sudden sensation of cool air as Aziraphale kisses and nips his way back down Crowley’s chest to kneel once again. 

Crowley almost can’t look, the sight of Aziraphale in such close proximity to the most intimate parts of him would be his undoing, he’s sure of it. Aziraphale runs his hands over Crowley’s thighs, an even pressure grounding Crowley to this room, to this couch, to Aziraphale’s hands. He strokes down Crowley’s legs to his ankles, pulling them up to rest against his sides, keeping Crowley’s tender feet from touching the ground.

“You’re so exquisite, dearest,” Aziraphale says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It’s obscene and Crowley has never been more turned on in his long existence, “I believe I shall very much enjoy having my fill of you.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley starts, but is silenced by Aziraphale’s tongue, licking a strip from the base to the head of his cock, a slow drag that is as infuriating as it is arousing. Crowley makes a string of unintelligible sounds as his hands come up to bury in Aziraphale’s hair again and his hips arch unbidden off the sofa.

“Crowley, dear, I really would like for you to stay still,” Aziraphale asks, his breath ghosting across the sensitive head of his cock, “You can do that for me can’t you dear?”

Crowley nods, the word ‘yes’ falling from his lips repeatedly. Aziraphale smiles up at him, somehow still looking perfectly innocent. Crowley feels like his heart could stop. Or possibly burst. Either way, he’s sure to discoporate at some point.

“Wonderful, my darling,” Aziraphale says, sounding near breathless himself. Firm hands grip Crowley’s hips as Azirpahale takes the tip of him into his mouth. Crowley moans low in the back of his throat, throwing his head back against the couch, trying desperately not to thrust into Aziraphale’s warm and inviting mouth. 

Aziraphale inches his way down slowly, stopping momentarily to swirl his tongue over the tip, eyes sparkling at the sound it draws out of Crowley. He works his way down before pulling back up, lips pursing over the tip. “You taste delightful, my dear, just like I knew you would.”

“Can’t just say things like that,” Crowley says as Aziraphale wraps a hand around his cock, running his thumb along the tip, collecting the precome that’s beading there. Crowley moans at the contact, Aziraphale’s hand is warm and soft, a contrast to his own bony fingers and sharp angles. The only touch he’s known is his own, after all. Aziraphale runs his hand back down to the base of Crowley’s cock before taking it into his mouth again.

Aziraphale moans like his lips are wrapped around a dessert fork, and Crowley knows that this will inevitably become a Pavlovian response for him every time they have a nice lunch from now on. He knows how Aziraphale’s lips feel now. Against his own, against his skin, against his thrice-damned cock, and he’ll never be able to forget even if he lives to be a million. 

He’s lost in this pleasure, as Aziraphale continues to take him in and out, flicking his tongue against the sensitive area right under the head. Crowley’s hands grip his hair tighter, his toes curl as he pants and gasps, forcing himself to stay still, to not seek out his pleasure but to let it be given to him.

A tang of ozone in the air, the hint of a miracle breaks his reverie. Aziraphale pulls off of his cock, eyes wild with lust as he trails kisses up the side of it. Crowley realizes through his haze that Aziraphale’s trousers are gone, and the hand that was holding his hip down has disappeared.

“Oh Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers against him, nuzzling against his still straining erection. So close and yet so far away, “how I love you like this, coming apart under my hands. I can hardly stand it.” Crowley watches Aziraphale’s face, notices his breath hitching and suddenly understands. He sits up and sees the angel’s hand wrapped around his own erection, stroking up and down with abandon. “The things you do to me, the feelings you make me feel.”

“Angel,” Crowley scrambles to say, trying to sit up properly without putting his feet on the floor and failing miserably, “Aziraphale let me-”

“No, dearest, I want to take care of you,” Aziraphale says, placing a kiss to the tip of him and hovering there, “don’t hold still, I want you to move, I want to feel how much you want me.”

“Aziraphale...”

“You’re not going to break me, dearest.”

The permission is all Crowley needs, brain hazy with lust and arousal. Aziraphale takes him back into his mouth as Crowley thrusts upward, hissing in pleasure at the friction of Aziraphale’s mouth and tongue against him. He grips Aziraphale’s hair tight, fucking up into his mouth.

Azirpahale looks up at him through his eyelashes, body shaking with the pleasure his hand is giving him. Aziraphale is enjoying himself and it’s because of Crowley. The knowledge makes something warm bloom inside of him, It’s too much - the love and adoration and lust.

“‘Ziraphale,” Crowley gasps out as Aziraphale moans around his cock. “Angel, I’m close.”

Aziraphale moans and sinks even lower onto his cock, his meaning more than clear as Crowley careens over the edge of his pleasure, spilling down Aziraphale’s throat. He hears the stutter of Aziraphale’s breath as he continues to stroke himself and decides that it won’t do, he needs to know, needs to feel for himself. 

Aziraphale slowly pulls off of Crowley’s cock, licking his lips in a way that threatens to arouse Crowley a second time. His hands move to the angel’s shirt and he tugs, pulling Aziraphale back up into his lap. A quick bit of demonic miracle work and his hand is slick, and he’s moving Aziraphale’s out of the way to wrap around his cock.

“Angel, Aziraphale, show me,” Crowley whispers against Aziraphale’s neck. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

Aziraphale wraps his hand over Crowley’s and guides him through. Shows him by touch the pressure and speed he likes; just how much attention he likes paid to the tip of it. The exact motions that make his breath hitch and a moan escape from his lips. Crowley commits it all to memory; if this is the only time this is going to happen, he’s going to remember every slight detail. He’s going to remember the way Aziraphale bucks up into his hand, how his weight feels pressed down against him, the exact rhythm of Aziraphale’s breath as he chases his pleasure in Crowley’s hand. 

Aziraphale cries out Crowley’s name as he spills into their joined hands, and Crowley continues stroking him through it. They lie there against each other, breathing heavily for a moment, trading slow and soft kisses to whatever bits of skin they can reach.

After a while, Aziraphale carefully extracts himself from Crowley’s arms, sitting next to him on the sofa before pulling Crowley into his arms so they can lie there together. Crowley has never felt safer in his life than right here, in the back of the bookshop. Lit by only candlelight and in the arms of his angel, right where he’s always wanted to be.

Aziraphale strokes a hand through Crowley's hair, gently and lovingly. Crowley sighs and relaxes against Aziraphale’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. He basks in this afterglow, in this comfort of touch, of closeness. Aziraphale kisses his temple and Crowley wraps his arms around him tighter, their legs entwining along the couch.

Aziraphale sighs, his hand idle stroking up and down the line of Crowley’s arm. “Crowley, eighty years ago, in the park, I-”

“Angel, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Crowley says, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s chest, not wanting anything to break this bubble yet.

“No, no, I need to, I need you to know.” Aziraphale pauses before continuing. “That day, in the park, the thought of my life without you in it. Crowley you must know, you must understand, to ask me to entertain the thought of a world without you. Of an existence without you. That would destroy me surer than any hellfire.”

Crowley lifts himself up to look Aziraphale in the eyes, seeing them brimming with love and sadness in equal measure, along with a resolve that has always simmered just below the surface. Aziraphale was a soldier first, Crowley’s never quite forgotten that.

“Your love for me terrifies me.” Aziraphale says, cupping Crowley’s cheek, stroking it lightly with his thumb. “Makes me falter, makes me push you away. I know what Hell would do, if they found out. If they knew. You’ve told me as much, so many times. The danger the love you have for me holds, it’s almost too much to bear.”

“Then why...why now?” Crowley holds his breath, this is the part he was scared of. The part where this can never happen again, where they have to go back to the way things were. When Aziraphale asks him to forget all of this in the name of their safety. Crowley isn’t sure he can go back after this.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers his name like a prayer before bringing their lips together once more. “Whatever terrifying things Hell could do to you; whatever Heaven could do to me. None of it can even hold a candle to the love I have for you. Let either of them come for us, I’ll burn them both to the ground myself.”

Crowley kisses him again, deeply and with everything he has. “Me too, angel. I won’t ever let them take you away from me, they can die trying.”

“Those aren’t thoughts for tonight, dearest,” Aziraphale says, winding his arms around Crowley again. “No, I very much think tonight is for us, and I would rather like for you to stay right here with me until morning at least.”

“And after that?” Crowley asks tentatively, still a bit scared of the answer.

“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale says, kissing him again, pouring love directly into his soul. “As though I’d ever be able to forget tonight, to go on without touching you or holding you or kissing you. I believe we’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, ‘spose we have,” Crowley says with a smile, kissing Aziraphale on the nose before settling back against his chest again. Letting the warmth of their love drape over him like a blanket. The both of them warm, safe, and so very loved and wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [Tumblr](http://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com)!


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